


And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by Cliophilyra, purpleandorangesheep



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Frottage, Illustrated, Insomnia, M/M, Purgatory, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4930594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleandorangesheep/pseuds/purpleandorangesheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After purgatory, Dean can't sleep alone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> A writing and art collaboration - written by me and illustrated by the amazing, lovely and talented purpleandorangesheep - Thank you my love! :-) 
> 
> As always I would love to know what you think - please leave a comment! Thank you, hope you enjoy it! x
> 
> Title from [Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening](%E2%80%9Cwww.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42891%E2%80%9D) by Robert Frost

There are eyes in the shadows, he can’t sleep when there are eyes in the shadows. He can feel them watching; hungering for him. He can almost smell their desperation and craving. He can hear the dry crack of dead branches under their feet and the murmur of ravenous breathing. They are surrounding him, he knows that without even looking. This is no time to stop, to sit, to sleep.

Dean sits up in a cheap motel bed with a muffled gasp on his lips; did he dream that sound or make it? Heart pounding, skin shining and hair damp with cold sweat, his panicked eyes dart around the room but there is nothing there. No monsters, no one watching, nothing terrible creeping up on him. Just Sam; asleep on the other side of the dark, silent room.  For some reason he can’t quite fathom, the absence unnerves him; something is missing. 

He drags in a lungful of air and blows out hard, forcing his heart to slow.  The air in the room is cold, it brings a wracking shiver where it touches the bare flesh of his chest, but this autumnal chill is nothing compared to the draining, gnawing cold he lived with for the last year.

He flops back down, takes another breath and closes his eyes tentatively. They are there again, immediately – the eyes; the sounds; the weak, shifting charcoal light. His heartbeat begins to quicken again and his eyes click open. It’s not safe! Not safe to close your eyes; let down your guard, to relax. No sleep without…

  ***  

It was never night time in purgatory in the way it is back in the world. There was no day or night – only the grey. The smoky shadows, the palid areas lit by invisible means. The trees were grey, the sky was grey, the grass was…not green.

It wasn’t silent though, there was always the sluggish trickle of the black river that wormed its way through the desolate landscape and the whispering, just on the edge of hearing. The wind that clawed at his face and hands, poured ice into his bones, into his soul. In the end he only really noticed the cold when he paused, when the weight of clinging exhaustion piled onto him, dragging him down to the ground. When the maw of a cave started to look less like a guaranteed death trap and more like a risk worth taking.

He tried not to sleep, stayed awake for untold days at first because Benny didn’t need to sleep and anyway all he could think about was finding Cas. Even when he finally accepted the need, he couldn’t manage more than a couple of seconds at a time, in a constant state of hyper-awareness even with Benny watching out for him. 

It wasn’t until they found Cas that Dean had found himself able to sleep hours rather than seconds. 

He would pull his coat around himself in a usual vain attempt to find some comfort from the aching wind, and lean back against a tree with bark like cold, hard iron. 

Benny sat a little distance away, watching the shadows while Cas stood, unmoving in the weak light. Dean watched Cas, fascinated by the silhouette he cast against the sky. His coat was tattered, his skin filthy but he stood straight, scanning the shadows with an unwavering intensity that was almost frightening.

Before he had even realised it Dean was asleep and when he woke, hours later, it was to find the angel unmoved, still staring down the darkness. He was completely unprepared for the swell of relief and some other, unnameable emotion that threatened to overwhelm him at the sight.  And so, rarely, when he couldn’t move another step, when his mind turned to Jello and he knew that the next fight he got into would be his last, he would sleep and Cas would watch over him.

 

  **** 

 

Now Dean is back. He dragged them both to that silver slice through the horizon, fought and killed to shove them back into the world but Cas didn’t follow. He fell away at the last step and Dean can still feel the terror as Cas’s fingers slid from his grip. He doesn’t understand why Cas gave up, or what he meant by atonement? Most of all he doesn’t understand why he’s left with a pain so intense that he sometimes worries he might be having a heart attack, although he never mentions it. 

He can’t sleep. Whenever he tries he sees narrow, gleaming eyes and claws and teeth in the dark and he knows there is nothing to stop them, no way to keep them at bay now. Something is missing.

Sometimes though, when it’s really bad, when the shadows stretch and twist and close in and he’s completely alone in his own head, terrorised by a vision that is not exactly a dream and not really a memory, a sudden shift comes. It might be just a sense of quiet comfort that flows gradually through his dream, reminding him what it was like to sleep in assured safety. Other times it is a blinding, radiating light that illuminates the dead landscape, turning all the fire-eyed things into pillars of ash that dissolve in the cold wind.  Then he feels a surge of that old nameless emotion and familiar protection and he allows himself to sink into sleep at last.

When he wakes on these rare occasions he feels rested, relaxed and even happy. He lies on the bed staring at the cracked plaster ceiling; a small smile on his lips, which slowly drips away as he looks around and remembers that Cas is not really there.

He knows that Cas is what is missing but he doesn’t want to talk about it, not even to himself; especially not to himself. He is not prepared to consider the possibility that he will never be able to sleep without him, or that he will always have to sleep without him.

 

It has been almost two weeks since he climbed through a hole in the world and dropped Benny off at his old bones. Dean is lying in another narrow, uncomfortable bed staring at the inside of his eyelids. He knows he won’t be able to sleep, he can feel tension like a rod in his back; the effort is futile but familiar.

“You got your ears on buddy?” He says quietly, without really knowing why. It’s not like he expects an answer. Nor does he get one. The silence rings in his ears and he wishes he hadn’t spoken. 

He sighs and turns over, as if that might help him sleep. The grey, waking-dream is pulling in tighter around him. As he starts to panic again the brilliant light is suddenly there, quicker than usual. Usually it doesn’t come until his heart is racing and he cries out. The flash lights up the gloom and all the shadows are gone. Even though he knows it’s only his imagination, he can see spots behind his eyes. 

There is a figure in his mind’s eye as always, a silhouette against the leaden sky standing straight, looking determined. “Cas,” he says and the figure turns to look towards him. He has never spoken to his dream before. 

The tattered angel doesn’t reply but Dean can see his eyes, like sad sapphires in the sooty light.

“I can’t sleep when you're not here.” Dean says and the sapphires blink slowly, “Ok? I got out and you didn’t and I know you think you have something you need to make up for but it’s pointless! Do you think you’re the only one with shit to atone for? At least back here you could try and do some good!” He realises he is raising his voice when he hears Sam turn, grumbling in his sleep.  

He is silent for a moment while the Castiel in his mind regards him, head on one side in that infuriatingly familiar way. “It was all for you. All that fighting and running and killing? It was to get you out. Then you just let go? Like it was nothing, like I’d be better off without you? You’re an ungrateful son of a bitch, you know that? I need you back here Cas. I wish I could just shrug and let you go but there’s no point being here if you’re still there.”

The pain in his heart flares with the truth of his words, previously unspoken even in his own head and his breath catches. He presses his hand to his chest, this is it, he’s sure this is it; heart attack time; it has to be, nothing has ever hurt like this. It feels like someone is pulling him, reeling him in with a hook in his heart. 

The vision becomes fuzzy, fading into a formless, ashen nothing. There is another desperate pull on his heart and he opens his eyes, sitting upright with a gasp. Cas stands at the foot of the bed. He is unshaven, his coat and the once white scrubs are still torn and dirt is ground into his skin, his hair is stiff and matted with blood or worse but his eyes are still bright and he takes Dean’s breath away.

They stare at each other in silence, Dean can’t speak; what if this is still in his head, what if Cas isn’t real? His eyes follow Cas as he walks around to where Dean sits and stares down at him.

He reaches out his hand and touches Dean's face, cradling his jaw, running his thumb over the lines under his eyes.  Dean closes his eyes and instinctively leans into his touch, into the solid warmth of his rough hand. He is real.

Dean swallows, trying to hold back the wave of emotion that wants to drag him under.  When he opens his eyes and looks up, Cas is looking back in wonder. He smiles and Cas smiles too, a huge, gummy, joyful smile and Dean reaches up and, without even thinking, pulls him down by the nape of his neck and kisses him. Despite the mud, blood, grime and general awfulness it is the best thing he has ever done. 

Cas kisses him back like he has saved his life, which he kind of has. 

Then there is a shimmer and Dean is afraid for a moment that it will all go away and he’ll be alone with the eyes and teeth again. In fact all that happens is that suddenly Cas stops looking like a hobo and looks like – Castiel; slightly confused angel of the lord. He smiles and leans down to kiss Dean again and he tastes like spring now, like green and fresh and electric and not like blood and it’s definitely an improvement. 

Cas drops, exhausted, onto the bed beside him and Dean wraps his arms around him, holding him as if he might try to fly away, like he might come to his senses. Cas smiles and kisses him harder, burying his fingers in his hair, and a flicker of something in the back of Dean's mind wonders if maybe he’s never going to go away. 

Dean pulls him in again, gripping his head in his hands as he kisses him, humming softly as their breath mingles, tongues sliding, suddenly he feels the hard length of Cas’s arousal pressed against his hip and he stills for a moment. Holding his breath, then he looks into Cas's eyes and thinks, no more waiting.

He pushes his leg between Cas's and Cas groans into his ear as he grinds against him.  Cas's movements are urgent, his hands roam over Dean's skin like he wants to touch all of him at once. Like he doesn't know where to begin. He skims his lips over Dean's neck, down his chest, licking small trails over his stomach. Dean groans, both hands grasping at Cas's ass, sliding up his back, wondering at the movement of firm muscles under the newly clean fabric of his white cotton pants. Cas is stronger than he looks. 

Dean begins to loose himself in the sensations of touch and movement. He pushes Cas's coat off his shoulders, dragging it down his arms and throwing it on the floor. He moves his mouth down his angels neck, licking at the twitching pulse in his warm throat, breathing in the strangely calming, airy scent of him. Cas moans, a deep wrecked noise; the first sound he has uttered since his return. 

Suddenly Dean is aware of how long he has been waiting for this moment, years of confused denial split away, leaving him just as desperate and eager as Cas. He grips him by the shoulders, pulling him up, kissing him again. He can't get enough of the sensation of Cas's lips against his mouth, the heat of his breath. He feels like he should speak, say something profound and meaningful but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to let himself think, it’s not time to let the world in yet. Instead he looks up at the man sitting astride him, at his soft eyes, the tiny frown that creases his forehead. Cas looks unsure for a moment, like he thinks he has made a mistake, until Dean places his hands against the jut of his hipbones, running his thumbs over the warm skin revealed by the crumpled scrubs and pushes the fabric up. Cas smiles and pulls off his shirt as Dean’s rough fingers skim over the muscles of his stomach.

Dean marvels at the solid warmth of him, this is nothing he’s ever done before but it comes naturally. He knows what he wants, what Cas wants and there is no hesitation in his touch as he reaches to where Cas’s pants are stretched tight, tented over his erection and runs his fingers along the straining fabric. Cas hisses and leans back, closing his eyes with a hum of pleasure. He slides his hands past the elastic of the waistband and pushes them down as best he can, freeing his cock to Dean’s grasp. Dean’s fingers glide over the velvet hard flesh, skimming over the head and smoothing the beads of precome across Cas’s skin. His eyes are locked on him, fascinated at the feeling of Cas in his hand, how his fingers wrap around him, the heat and slide as he begins to move his fist. His own cock twitches, leaking against his stomach as he looks up, watching the pleasure written over Cas’s face, his flushed cheeks, fluttering eyelids and his mouth open, breathing shallow.

Dean opens his hand and takes them both in his fist and looses himself in the feeling of holding himself against Cas, of the push and slide, the friction and heat. The soft, wrecked sounds Cas makes drag quiet moans from his own throat. He thinks of fighting the coil that tightens in his belly almost at once, embarrassed at how quickly it has come over him but then he sees Cas watching him, looking at him with such wonder as though he can see right into him and he’s gone, coming in thick spurts, trying to keep from shouting his name. Cas follows almost instantly, looking surprised and amazed by the sensation, moaning softly as Dean continues to stroke him through his orgasm.

***

 

The next morning Dean wakes up with bitten lips and heavy, aching limbs, but he wakes up.  He didn’t spend the night staring at the inside of his eyes and the cracks in the ceiling. He looks over at where Cas’s soft dark hair is sticking up in all directions on the pillow next to him and smiles. He drops a kiss onto his shoulder and Cas stirs, turning and opening his eyes.  “Hey, I didn’t think you needed to sleep?” Dean asks softly. 

Cas smiles and props himself up on his hand, blinking in the thin, morning light, his other hand stroking absently over Dean’s chest, “I don’t usually but I used up all my grace to follow your call and bring myself back to you.”

Dean’s eyes widen, “All of it? What call?”

Cas nods, “All of it for now, but it will regenerate.” He smiles, “You called me back. I thought I had to atone, I felt your pain, I heard you cry out and it hurt so much that I thought that was it; my punishment. But then you spoke to me last night and suddenly I knew I had to follow you back. I missed you so much.”

Dean can’t even begin to imagine the strength it took for Cas to drag himself back. “But you're out of mojo now? Why would you do that?”

Cas shrugs, “Because I love you and I realised you loved me too.” He says it as a matter of fact and Dean laughs, an involuntary sound that bursts from his chest because it's true.

How the hell did he get from nightmares and purgatory to this? How did he not notice before? Dean wonders as he takes in his angel's wide smile, soft lips, pupils so wide there is only the thinnest circle of crystal blue.  He smooths his fingers over the crinkled skin at the corners of his eyes, smiles and pulls him into a kiss, moaning as Cas deepens it, sliding his tongue against Dean's, reaching for his rapidly hardening cock and giving a gentle stroke, moving harder and faster as Dean pushes into the tightness of his grip, groaning at the friction of Cas's hand as it drags over his hard, sensitive flesh. 

Then, from the other side of the room comes a horrified voice, “Guys, seriously!”      

 


End file.
